


things are better in america

by girltalk



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Exes, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-16 13:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17550167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girltalk/pseuds/girltalk
Summary: If Jaehyun had his way, they would have broken up over text.





	things are better in america

**Author's Note:**

> thank you mod for your endless patience and i'm sorry i made you suffer so!!! 
> 
> disclaimer: all ages referred to are western.

There's a moment, on row 10, Turkish Airlines flight number THY189, where Jaehyun and Doyoung ascend pride and resentment and the shortcomings of their own sour hearts that keep them tied to this state of arrested relationship development, and come together in mutual understanding. 

“I’m going to swap with Winwin,” Doyoung says, assuring the voice in Jaehyun’s head. The hurt, petty voice, that all the other evolved parts of Jaehyun’s consciousness have been trying in vain to put to sleep. The one that always has to wake up and throw its afternoon tantrum when Doyoung is nearby. 

Doyoung waits until the seatbelt light is turned off. Before that, Jaehyun swindles Doyoung out of his complimentary peanuts, Doyoung smugly reminds Jaehyun to turn his phone on airplane mode, Jaehyun jokes that Gongmyung-hyung looks sexy in the family picture Doyoung has as his wallpaper, Doyoung slaps him and—the seatbelt sign is switched off. Doyoung swaps with Winwin. 

Six hours into the flight, there’s another moment. Jaehyun’s tired eyes slip off his in-flight entertainment and lazily survey the other members. Across from him, on the other side of Taeyong who’s already nodded off, Doyoung seems to have had the same idea. They make eye contact. Do the aircraft cha cha cha, leaning back to pass judgement on what the other is watching and, on both their screens, in perfect synch, Leonardo DiCaprio is snorting a line of coke off a hooker’s ass. 

They burst out laughing. Winwin, who was staring out the window listening to music, turns towards Jaehyun. “What’s funny?” he asks. 

A playful two minute squabble later, he’s sharing an earphone with Winwin and fast forwarding to Margot Robbie’s sex scene. “If you get hard you’re dealing with it yourself.”

Winwin squints. “Hard?”

Jaehyun curls his fingers loosely, hovers it up and down over his crotch. “You know, like when—” Winwin scrunches his mouth, holding in a smile. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Winwin snickers, then his attention is abruptly snatched away and he’s whispering, “Holy shit. Look at her boobs.”

He doesn’t know why he ends up looking back at Doyoung instead. Inborn survival instinct perhaps. Joseon Princes probably had servants stand guard outside their door watching for the King and Queen, before shucking up their hanbok and jerking one out. Not that Jaehyun or his hand have plans with the mile high club. No, not from a nude scene that’s—it’s humiliating.

He’s better than that. He’s better than that and he can’t stop staring at Doyoung. His cheek resting on his knuckles, loosely biting down on one finger. He’s better than that and Doyoung wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. When they were dating, and Jaehyun was seventeen, Doyoung would think he was cute. Feel bad for him. Feel endeared towards him. Now? He’d laugh at him, definitely. Perfect Jaehyun who got a boner in the middle of an international flight watching the Wolf of Wall Street. 

It’s with a wave of mortification so intense Jaehyun feels like half his brain is boiling that he realises he’s fulfilled half of the prophecy. Casually, he bends down to grab the blanket the airline provided them, focuses his breathing as he drapes it over his lap. He checks on Winwin from the corner of his eye and finds him still staring at the screen, mouth hanging open as Margot Robbie touches herself in a kid’s bedroom.

God, they do deserve to be laughed at. 

 

 

Here’s what Jaehyun remembers of his first kiss:

It was after curfew. He knows this, because he remembers the sweep of the torchlight under the door of his dorm room. He remembers pretending not to speak English when the janitor caught him in the fire exit, and looking up and seeing his friends behind the railing on the third flight of stairs, covering their mouths so they didn’t laugh. That same year he won a trophy at the science fair, but can’t recall any of it. It’s weird, the shit your brain remembers. Keeps safe until you’re seventeen and the thrill of a first kiss is just electricity firing across nerves as you’re lying in bed and transmitting it to your first—not love. Well, maybe that. 

“It was on the rooftop,” Jaehyun says. “This older guy, Alex, said it was really romantic and he’d made out with Gina there, and she was the most popular girl in our school. I mean, we were just kids then but—” Doyoung chuckles. Jaehyun rolls to the side, pouts. “What?” 

Doyoung is on the bed next to Jaehyun. Usually, his bed is up against the opposite side of the room, underneath a wall calendar that had a picture of an SM artist to go with every month (it came with a mug as well, that Yuta had stolen to use as a toothbrush holder). With a new trainee coming in next week, they’ve been forced to become conservative with space, and they’re close enough that Doyoung can reach across the gap between their bed frames and ruffle Jaehyun’s hair.

“It’s cute that you don’t think you’re still a kid,” he says, and punctuates it with a push against Jaehyun’s forehead. 

“I was twelve!” Jaehyun protests. “I was an _actual_ kid then. But yeah, I kissed her on the roof. And she was really nervous and told me she almost vomited after passing me that note in math class saying that she liked me.”

Doyoung looks alarmed, brows pinched. “You were _twelve_? Oh my God! That’s younger than Donghyuck.”

Jaehyun shrugs. “It was America.”

“No, I think it was just you,” Doyoung says. “But geez, worried about romance as a twelve year old?” He smiles, teasing, and not like he’s teasing a kid. But like he’s poking at a sleeping wolf. “You were just born with cherry blossoms, weren’t you.” He links his thumbs together and raises his hands in the air, imitating the flapping of wings. “The doctor held you up and birds suddenly appeared holding a blanket in their beaks and wrapped it around you.”

“I think my Dad has a birthing video. You can check if you want.”

Doyoung barks a laugh, with a force that only comes from being caught off-guard. He has such a large mouth, Jaehyun always finds himself marveling at it while they’re singing. “Okay, but did little baby Woojae like his first kiss?”

There have been better opportunities, but Jaehyun just made Doyoung laugh, and he has the perfect retort in his head. In an elegant movement—and elegance, Jaehyun has always had that in spades—he’s on Doyoung’s bed, up on all fours and looking down at Doyoung’s wide eyes. “Not as much as I’m going to like this one.”

And he can only be this bold because it’s Doyoung, who only half takes him seriously, and the rest of the time looks at Jaehyun like he’s the only other person on Earth and he can't stand the fact.

Doyoung’s shock never quite wears off. But he lifts a hand to rest on the back of Jaehyun’s neck, thumb brushing across his nape. “What? I don’t get the rose petals on the bed?” he whispers.

It’s weird, the shit your brain remembers. His blue ribbon science fair project was about the sun; he knows this because his mother had a picture on the fridge. He’d burnt ants as part of the scientific method, apparently. _“The kind of psychopathic shit only a kid with your grades and looks could get away with,”_ Doyoung had said. He doesn’t remember burning the ants. But he remembers the look on that girl’s face (he doesn’t even remember her _name_ ) when she’d realised all of Jaehyun’s friends were watching them from behind a raintank. Whistling and elbowing each other as Jaehyun wiped his lips. 

He won’t tell Doyoung this. Never will. Doyoung kisses him, takes the lead, sucks Jaehyun’s bottom lip and pulls back to admire it. Jaehyun knows how it looks, red and swollen, like a small prick could draw a stream of blood out. He wonders if Doyoung will remember it in ten years. Or if he needs to take a photo and put it on a fridge.

 

 

If Jaehyun lived in a romcom, he wonders if he and Doyoung would end up doing something after the mishap on the flight. He retraces his steps—Doyoung making quick work of him in the lavatory? No way. They’re not in a porno, and he’s pretty sure one of the girls sitting three rows ahead of them was a fan, going by how her phone kept poking out over her seat when she thought he was looking the other way. There wouldn’t have been time to be alone once they’d landed, either. They were shuffled straight through security and into two different vans, with Yukhei whining about how badly he needed to pee all the way. 

Dorms? Not when there’s another seven people living with them. Practice room, maybe—Jaewon hyung walking in on them is slightly less horrifying than one of the members, he was cool. But it’s not like Doyoung would suddenly drop all sense and kiss him. And It’s not like he’d lose his self-respect and ask. 

Maybe what’s missing from the recipe is love. Jaehyun isn’t religious, but he’d watched A Walk To Remember with Mark once when they were trainees. It’d been the only time he’d seen Mark cry during a romance movie. He’d thought of Mark as a simple kid, but Mark had been sat on the couch next to him, all snotty and 14 years old, proclaiming, “That’s what love is, man. God opens up the world for you if you’re in love.” 

The thing laving Jaehyun’s gut isn’t love. It feels like it sometimes. Like when Doyoung finds Jaehyun reading from a poetry book and he fondly asks what verse Jaehyun likes best. Or when they’re watching a horror movie together and Doyoung’s yelling at jump scares that don’t even happen and Jaehyun can’t stop smiling even as a person is strangled to death on screen. Their friendship is healing, and it’s more than what either of them deserve. But no matter how he looks at it, it’s new skin over an old wound. Raw and pink and vulnerable. It’s not love. 

It’s leaving the SBS building late after an EnNaNa recording, Jaehyun exhausted and Doyoung running his mouth with _“I’m just saying, it’s fine to be cheesy but you sound like those greeting cards you get at a grocery store. My girlfriend in high school would have dumped me if I’d given her that.”_ It’s him cutting off Doyoung’s liturgy of criticisms with, _“I’m sorry, I’ll work on it.”_ And then, _“Better to dump you over a greeting card than for your personality.”_

Back at the dorms, propelled by exhaustion, Jaehyun flops back onto his bed and shuts his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, it’s completely quiet. A vacuum where the only air is Jaehyun’s jagged breath. And for some reason there’s only one bed, Donghyuck’s light snoring is gone, and the room is so much smaller than it usually is. Doyoung is holding Jaehyun in his hands, squeezing tightly, just painful enough to be purposeful. He flicks his thumb over Jaehyun’s cock, other hand running up Jaehyun’s chest, and mutters, “God, I missed you. You grew up so well.” 

Then, Doyoung’s hand reaches around his shoulder, down Jaehyun’s spine, and he grips something. A pullstring protruding from the middle of his back. Jaehyun realises he can’t move, his joints have gone stiff, his skin is cold. But he’s not panicked. He’s venerated. Doyoung kisses him, pulls him up. Hushes him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He yanks the string back and it’s like someone’s foot goes through Jaehyun’s head from above and is stepping down on all his organs. 

He wakes up at 7AM, still in his clothes from schedule. His jeans are damp, and whatever bonelessness usually accompanies dreams like this is absent. It’s not love. Nothing close to that divine power that splits the sea in half or adds extra hours to the day. It’s just extremely uncomfortable chafing and Mark’s _”Oh SHIT, dude!”_ from the room next door. 

 

 

So, nine months. 

Nine months since Jaehyun had looked at Doyoung when he shouldn’t have. Nine months of him not being able to stop looking. 

It’s not that long at all in the grand scheme of things. It was sixteen months between Doyoung being introduced as a new trainee—and Ten whispering to Jaehyun that it looked like Doyoung had got lost on the way to church—and Jaehyun lifting his body weight off Doyoung, breaking the best kiss of his life, so he could stutter out the worst words to have ever come out of his mouth: “I-I’ve never had a boyfriend before.” 

Still, it’s long enough for Jaehyun to want to slap himself when, after Doyoung pinches his neck, it takes him ten seconds to recalibrate his breathing, brain getting its oxygen just at the tailend of Doyoung’s rant.

“...It’s been three weeks, you need to choose a costume now.” 

Jaehyun furrows his brows. “For Halloween?”

“No, for your grandmother’s funeral.” 

“You don’t need to patronise me,” Jaehyun says, and from where he’s reclining on his bed, he sticks a leg out to softly kick the back of Doyoung’s knee. “I chose my costume weeks ago.”

If Jaehyun had thought Doyoung would be impressed by his forethought, he’d be disappointed. Doyoung snorts. “I’m not going to let you coat tail off Jungwoo’s costume.”

“It’s a couple costume!”

“You’re not going as _Jack_ from Titanic. That’s just you going as a—” Doyoung cuts himself off. The hand he’s waving to emphasise his point hangs in the air. 

“Going as a what?” Jaehyun asks. It’s genuine curiosity at first. Jaehyun cocks his head, and when Doyoung frowns the way he does when he’s clearly uncomfortable, he smirks. “As a what, hyung?”

“As a…” Doyoung hesitates, before he spots something on Jaehyun’s face and snaps out of it. “That’s you going as a wet dream of yourself. It’s boring and lazy. But you know what? Do whatever you want, I’m not your mum.” 

Doyoung spins and power walks out of the room, looking a lot like he does when he’s treadmilling next to Jaehyun at the gym—stiff, unhappy, and unwilling to run. 

Jaehyun blinks. “Is that speaking from experience?” he calls, but it’s a second too late; the door clicks shut just as he opens his mouth. 

It was a shitty comeback. Contrary to how he looks, he’s never been good at being smooth. How would Prince Charming ask _“Do you think about fucking my brains out too?”_ anyway. 

 

 

“Guess who I voted for best costume?” Yuta says, sliding into the seat next to Jaehyun. 

The question, specifically for Jaehyun and notably insincere, summons a chorus of, “Winwin” from everyone within hearing range, which includes Yunho from the table behind theirs, who takes an intermission from his own conversation with Donghae to wink at Yuta playfully. Jaehyun takes satisfaction at how Yuta looks like his intestines have dissolved, but quickly schools his expression into something more innocent.

“No,” Yuta hisses. He leans forward, the hair from his silver wig tickling Jaehyun's nose. “I voted for you,” he doesn't whisper, and Jungwoo turns to the two of them. His own wig is beginning to slip from his head, the bangs lopsided and curtaining his eyes. Jaehyun pushes it back up for him. 

“Thank you, Jack,” Jungwoo sighs, batting his eyelids. He leans forward to address Yuta again. “Why wouldn’t you vote for me, hyung?”

Jaehyun wonders if Jungwoo knows. He’s sort of Doyoung’s pet, and he doesn’t know if that’d make Doyoung more or less likely to tell him. For all of Doyoung’s griping at how boring Jaehyun was, the moment he’d laid eyes on Jaehyun and Jungwoo in their Jack and Rose couple costumes, he’d demanded to take pictures right that instant. At the time, with his hands on Jungwoo’s waist, lips angled towards Jungwoo’s mouth but staring into the lens of Doyoung’s phone, Jaehyun had thought it was a weird thing to do. Or maybe Jaehyun was the weird one. 

“Why would I vote for you when you hogged the whole door for yourself?” Yuta scoffs.

Jungwoo sniffs. “But you’d vote for Jaehyun-hyung? It took him ten minutes to get ready.”

Yuta’s gaze flickers to Jaehyun. “His costume sucks,” he says. “But I think he needs the prize. Two tickets to the Maldives. It’d be good for him to relax.”

“Sure,” Jaehyun says, unimpressed. “I’m not giving the other ticket to you.”

“It’s not for me!” Yuta protests. “I think you already know who you’d give it to. You’ve been so tense lately. Like you need to…” A smarmy grin uncurls over his face. “I don’t know, smash it out.”

Yuta drinks his beer expectantly, eyes peering at Jaehyun from over the rim as though he’s waiting for Jaehyun to say thank you. Jungwoo’s usually unconcerned countenance is crinkled with a pinched forehead. 

Yuta has never struck Jaehyun as particularly observant, but asking for clarity feels like taking a bite of the ‘poison’ apple tucked between Yuta’s elbow. Jaehyun clears his throat. “There probably wasn’t enough room on the door. Don’t you think James Cameron would have thought of that?”

“Careful,” Yuta says, lifting his apple and pretending to lob it at Jaehyun’s head. “Your hard on for authority is showing.” 

 

 

Even as wine sweetens the air and Lee Sooman—the legend himself—becomes tipsy enough to let Leeteuk put an arm around him, Jaehyun holds his sobriety close, like a cloak he can use to hide himself. Yuta was just trying to be mean, that’s the only reason he ever says things, but the words held a truth that slammed into Jaehyun like a linebacker. 

The other members never talk about it. They weren’t meant to know in the first place—it’s Jaehyun’s fault they’d found out. It was a stupid prank for his eighteenth birthday, Doyoung and Johnny getting into a fight over whether they could end practice early so Jaehyun could watch a movie to celebrate. _”It’s his birthday! One day of the year! He can practice the other three hundred and sixty four days!”_ Doyoung argued, while Johnny shook his head and snapped _”Easy for you to say when you haven’t been here seven years!"_ Jaehyun had thought it would devolve into fists—a stupid thing to think in retrospect, fist fights were Taeyong and Yuta’s MO—and he’d shoved himself between the two of them, in tears.

He always tells this story on radio shows, but he doesn’t remember it as a birthday. He tells it like you tell the story of the time you pissed your pants; reclaiming it as a funny anecdote to try and scrub out the humiliation. As soon as he’d pushed in, crying, _“Hyungs! Please don’t fight!”_ the lights had turned out and the birthday song started. Jaehyun would have forgotten who was carrying the cake if it wasn’t for the way Taeyong’s eyes swung from Doyoung, staring at Jaehyun like he’d just grown a second head, back over to Jaehyun, snotty and blotchy and looking at Doyoung like—

He doesn’t want to know how he had been looking at Doyoung. But it had caused Taeyong to mutter a high pitched _“Oh!”_ and drop the cake on the floor. 

The Jaehyun of then feels like a stranger, not one he’d get along with either. Fuck. He can’t fathom crying over any of the members now. Maybe if one of them died? 

“What are you thinking about?” 

It’s because Yuta’s words are still stinging that Jaehyun doesn’t even flinch. “How I’d cry if Mark died.”

Doyoung chuckles. “Wow, and I dare to call you soulless.” 

“Aren’t you hot in that?” Jaehyun asks. Doyoung stands over him dressed as a Joseon King—Jaehyun had asked if he could wear the dragon robe when it had arrived, but Doyoung had snatched it out of his hands and grouched that he didn’t need proof that Jaehyun would look better in it. If Jaehyun had to testify in court, he’d say Doyoung looked pretty good in it himself. 

“No, it’s actually very breathable,” Doyoung says, twirling lightly in it to demonstrate. “Why are you sitting here by yourself?”

Jaehyun ignores the question. “You look like a commoner snuck into the Emperor’s room to play dress up.”

Doyoung swings his arm, lets the fabric hit Jaehyun’s cheek in retaliation. “Shut up! Yuta said he voted for me to win best costume.”

Jaehyun stiffens, smile frozen in place. Doyoung notices and smiles back hesitantly, raising an eyebrow. “Why’d he vote for you and not Jeno? He’s literally wearing the exact same thing," Jaehyun asks. 

To someone less familiar with Doyoung’s body, nothing in his demeanour would give anything away. But Jaehyun can hear all of Doyoung’s bones clicking into place behind the swaths of red silk. Doyoung laughs, one that sounds like it’s substituting for a nervous breakdown. “He said I need to go on holiday to relax.” He scoffs. “What a dumbass.” 

Jaehyun reaches for his drink, giving his body something to do while his mind is racing. “That’s funny.” Jaehyun takes a sip. Doesn’t need to check to know Doyoung’s eyes are on him. “He said the same thing to me.”

 

 

Maybe Doyoung would have let Jaehyun fuck him in a lavatory. 

They barely had sex when they were dating. You couldn’t do it in the dorm without someone else hearing, and the one time Jaehyun had _politely_ asked Ten if he could go out for a day he’d gotten a mirthful _’Fuck off’_ in return. Jaehyun had tried many times, with the eagerness of a five year old asking for a new toy, to convince Doyoung to just jam the door of the janitor’s closet. Begged him to just put on some music and blast the shower. Doyoung never relented. _”Not without a bed.”_

Maybe it was the guilt back then—the same guilt that had saddled Doyoung with a younger boyfriend when he’d just wanted a fuck buddy. Or maybe Doyoung had just genuinely changed. Because there were no complaints falling from his mouth as Jaehyun sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and pulled Doyoung onto his lap. 

The minute their mouths meet Jaehyun returns. It’s not like riding a bike, but he knows this dance. Doyoung’s hands muss up Jaehyun’s hair, knees locked around his waist as Jaehyun works Doyoung’s lips open. They kiss like it’s a competition to win, a race to see who can dig deeper into the other. Pull out the longest moan. 

“Wait,” Doyoung says, when Jaehyun moves them both to stand so he can push up Doyoung’s robes. “You locked the door, right?”

Jaehyun is on his knees; he pulls at the sash around Doyoung’s pants to try and loosen it. “Yes, I locked the door. God, why is there so much _cloth_ ,” he growls as another piece of material falls into his face. 

“That’s why the king had eight consorts, it was a team effort,” Doyoung jokes. The lightheartedness lasts for a second, then, “Okay but are you _sure_? You know the lengths Donghyuck goes to when he needs to pee.” 

Jaehyun gets Doyoung’s pants undone. He bends his neck back to grin at him, and even in the shitty bathroom lighting Doyoung’s full blown eyes are stark. Jaehyun reaches for Doyoung’s hands that are scrunching his robe up. “Don’t worry, if someone comes in-” he loosens Doyoung’s grip and the robes fall from his fingers, draping over Jaehyun’s back, “I'll just hide.” 

It’s dark, but he holds onto Doyoung’s legs and can feel them shaking. He imagines doing this with Doyoung sitting on a throne in front of a Joseon court, swords pointed at him from all sides. But Jaehyun is safe, protected by the golden dragon embroidered on the robe, blessed by the ancestors as he makes the King breathe fire. Carefully, he places an open kiss to the inside of one of Doyoung's thighs. Gradually the kisses get higher until his mouth is level with Doyoung's crotch. He remembers the first blowjob he'd given Doyoung, so set on following instructions that he'd forgotten to breathe and had choked. Doyoung had pulled away in a panic, running to the kitchen with his dick out to fetch Jaehyun a glass of water. Once Jaehyun had calmed down, Doyoung had laughed, pinched his cheeks and called him cute. Jaehyun leans forward and licks a clean stripe up the front of Doyoung's underwear.

Through the tent of silk he can hear a sharp gasp, like Doyoung's just been stabbed. He hides his smirk against Doyoung’s hip. There are many ways to dethrone a king. 

Doyoung’s breathing is laboured. “Oh my god. You’re nothing like I remembered,” he groans. “Do you know what’s crazy? I’m not even drunk”

Jaehyun pulls down Doyoung’s underwear and hums. “Good.”

 

 

They could have broken up over text if Jaehyun had his way. He’d been at the salon for five hours, the chemicals on his perm making him drowsy, when his phone chimed with the message notification: _“hey, we need to talk.”_

It was just an officiation ceremony Doyoung wanted, a label for the awkward silences and void of any affection—platonic or otherwise—that had plagued them for the past few months. Jaehyun had swallowed the stone in his throat and replied. ‘no it’s fine hyung! ^^ it was fun while it lasted. thank you for taking care of me.’ Doyoung’s response was quick. 

_> no i think we should talk_

_> there’s nothing to talk about hyung!!! I’m fine._

_> maybe i’m not fine??  
>when do u get out?_

_> idk but ten’s appointment is soon. pass the message through him?_

_> i feel like i’m not going to do that_

And so the back and forth went, until ultimately Jaehyun found himself sitting opposite Doyoung on the sofa, scalp in pain, while Doyoung recited the itemised list of why they couldn’t work. Debut; the members are against it; we should focus on our careers; you’re so sweet and handsome, you can find someone better. He never really got why Doyoung did that—why anybody did that. _“I don’t like you anymore. Maybe I never liked you.”_ That’s all he’d needed to hear. 

Three years later, not much has changed; things are just as awkward, though with the advancement of technology Doyoung had chosen a different medium to carry the initial message. 

Mark knocks on the door. “Hey bro,” he says. “Doyoung says you guys need to talk.”

From his bed, Donghyuck trills, “Ooooooooooh. Someone’s in trouble.”

“No, we don’t,” Jaehyun says, sliding his headphones back on. “Tell him it’s fine.”

“Uh... he _really_ insists,” Mark says.

Jaehyun sighs, exasperated. “Go back to him and tell him we’re good.”

“If you’re so _good_ , why can’t you tell him yourself,” Mark mutters under his breath. “Dude, he said that if you don’t come to him he’s going to come to you.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I don’t know man, I don’t think you have a choice in this.”

Jaehyun begrudgingly enters Doyoung’s room to find him pacing in a circle, mouthing words to himself. Jaehyun watches him for an indulgent minute, fond in spite of everything. 

“Hey, listen,” Jaehyun starts, causing Doyoung to jump. “Don’t worry about it. I was drunk.”

He turns to leave but Doyoung grabs his wrist. “No you weren’t. You know, you’re allowed to mistakes without alcohol, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun flinches. It hadn’t even been a mistake, had it? It was as premeditated as anything, an itch that he’d scratched as soon as he could reach it. 

Doyoung walks backwards, tugging Jaehyun along with him. He sits back on his bed and pats the space next to him. Jaehyun frowns but takes the seat. There’s a good few centimetres between them, but Doyoung is still holding his hand. 

“Is there any point in getting back together?” Doyoung asks. Jaehyun doesn’t register it as non-rhetorical until Doyoung looks at him, expectant.

“Do… do you want me to _convince_ you?” Jaehyun exclaims. “Do you even want to get back together.”

Doyoung looks affronted. “No, I don’t want you to _convince_ me. I just want to see what page you’re on—”

“Did you want to be together in the first place?” Jaehyun cuts him off. Doyoung opens his mouth to argue, and Jaehyun wants more than _anything_ for Doyoung to fight him on this. But there’s nothing. No words to slap some sense into him. Doyoung purses his lips. Jaehyun nods, slowly. “Yeah, I thought so.” 

“Don’t be that way, I—” Doyoung makes a sound of frustration. “ _You_ brought _me_ to the bathroom. Don’t act like I used you.” 

“I wish you would,” Jaehyun mumbles, turning his head away.

“You _wish_ I would _use_ you? What the fuck, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun shrugs, like he couldn’t care less. In a way, he couldn’t. It’s not love, it’s a rash. He runs his hand across the white mattress between them. He can hear Doyoung’s breathing, and he needs that ointment.

“Remember what you used to say? Not without a bed.”

 

 

Never in the dorms, Doyoung used to say. Doyoung used to say a lot of things. Jaehyun doesn’t know why all the rules are different now. Is it because back then all they could think about was debuting? It was a golden prize, the gates in a far away cloud, reached only by those who gave up enough and knew their place. The reality though, is that all sorts of people debut. Imperfect people. Whole people. Empty people. And they’ve all brought people over at one point or another. They’re all on three hours of sleep on average. There are things you need to live through, things that are worse than hearing your bandmates fuck through thin walls.

Jaehyun is sprawled out naked. Doyoung is next to him, but has pulled the blankets up to his waist. In between them, they’re still holding hands. 

“We can’t,” Doyoung says. And, to his credit, he sounds wistful. “I shouldn’t have then, and I can’t now.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jaehyun agrees. He rolls over to lie on his shoulder and stare at Doyoung’s side profile. “Sorry that I wanted to."

“It’s not your fault,” Doyoung says. “I did like you, you know? A lot.” And he sounds really, truly disappointed in himself. 

Jaehyun squeezes his hand. “Leave five minutes after me, okay?”

There’s no point to the precaution because Taeyong and Johnny both applaud him as soon as he steps into the living room. He’s embarrassed and ducks his head, but gives them a thumbs up back. They’re all old enough now to know it’s never going to be love, trust each other enough to know that they’d never do something that dangerous. 

Donghyuck wails dramatically when Jaehyun returns to their room. “My ears!” he screams. “I’ve been scarred for life.”

Jaehyun falls back onto his bed, grabs a pillow and chucks it at him. “Join the club, buddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is really not like anything i wanted it to be, which is entirely my fault for being weeks late for this exchange. dojae deserves better and my headcanon for them is so disastrous and sprawling that really it would need 20k. 
> 
> but thanks a million to everyone who pushed me to finish this (NOT to the ppl who kept distracting me, you know who u are!!!), esp ellie who is always endlessly supportive, and rei who i really need to pay for all the work she does to salvage my trash and deal with me TTTT sry that i'm always making an oscar speech whenever i finish a 5k fic but i'm a disaster who needs like 50 ppl to push me to finish smth. 
> 
> lastly, thank you to mod for ur putting up with me and being so kind even after i missed deadline after deadline ♡


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